Page 61 of Alchemised
Helena had never seen anything as elaborate as what was carved into the floor of Spirefell. Within the containment circle were nine smaller arrays which met to form the nine points, rather than a celestial eight or an elemental five.
Each inner array was marked with numerous symbols, and they all channelled towards a series of concentric circles in the centre.
It was not an iron forge array. The symbols and lines were all wrong for any kind of ironwork.
The light in the room kept cutting out. She knelt, trying to see more clearly.
Alchemists often used unique symbols to protect their discoveries from anyone without proper training and devotion to the subtle arts, but alchemical energy favoured certain patterns. A scholar with a wide repertoire and sufficient experience could usually parse them. It was like reading shorthand: If the fundamentals were there, an educated alchemist could divine the meaning through reason.
She traced her fingers along the lines, trying to envision the resonance flow.
There was a click and grind behind her.
She glanced back to see Ferron’s silhouette filling the doorway.
CHAPTER 11
HELENA KNEW SHE WAS ABOUT TO BE dragged out of the room, but rather than stand, she turned back to the array, wanting to unravel at least a fragment of it.
Her life was an incomprehensible mystery enough.
Rather than pull her from the room, Ferron came and stood watching as she tried to make sense of the symbols on the floor. After failing at one, she tried the next, and then another. It took a minute before she realised that they’d all been meticulously defaced to obscure any trace of what they’d originally been.
Unsolvable puzzles seemed fated to be her primary occupation.
She looked up at Ferron in resignation.
He was glaring at her. “It’s impressive how determined you are to be difficult.”
“Were you expecting something else?” she asked with a loose shrug.
He didn’t answer, but there was a hardening fury visible around his eyes.
She stared at him, calm enough to glimpse at what was beneath: a sea of seething rage. There was something about this room that he seemed particularly averse to. If she was lucky, maybe he’d snap her neck.
She looked over towards the cage. “Keep a lot of people in cages, Ferron?”
His jaw clenched, throat dipping as he swallowed.
“Only you,” he said, glancing around at the intricate, iron interior of his ancestral home. “Haven’t you noticed?”
Helena’s lip curled and she stood. She’d hoped to needle him, but he’d already seen through it. Better to behave so he’d leave her alone.
She walked out into the main hall, expecting to find the necrothrall waiting, placid as always. Instead, the woman was all the way across the room, clouded eyes wide as if in fear. The necrothrall’s lips moved, mouthing something silently as she looked at Ferron.
Kaine, Helena realised. The woman was saying Ferron’s name over and over.
Ferron gave a sharp flick of his hand, and the woman fled.
Helena watched her disappear, feeling a vague sense of guilt. “Don’t hurt her.”
“She’s dead,” Ferron said coolly as he closed the door. She heard it lock from within, and then the iron in the wall screeched, warping. The door would not reopen for anyone without iron resonance. “She can’t be hurt.”
He said it almost glibly, but Helena suspected he was not as indifferent as he tried to appear.
Helena rounded on him. “Why keep them?”
He shrugged. “It’s hard to find good staff nowadays.”
